¶ 1Leave a comment on verse 10
Can I just point out
that this evens things up-
(not to mention our far superior record
against you in cup competitions).
You can’t say it anymore:
‘We’ve beaten you more
than you’ve beaten us’.
Must be disappointing, huh?

¶ 2Leave a comment on verse 20
The game itself was magic-
well, the result was.
The tide was rushing in
as we were drawn to the floodlights in droves,
icy breath snagged on winter hawthorns.
The fall and swell of the crowd
as chances went begging
and our penalty area came under threat.

¶ 3Leave a comment on verse 30
But it was never really in doubt-
go on, be honest.
And don’t give me that
about it not being a penalty-
how often do we get those given
at The Hawthorns?

¶ 4Leave a comment on verse 40
And after the goal,
and after Green’s moments of madness,
we were toying with you-
a throstle tugging at a worm,
pecking away at your morale,
teasing you from the wet earth
and leaving you exposed to the skills
of Jordao, Roberts, Ginger.

¶ 5Leave a comment on verse 50
When the whistle went,
we didn’t want to leave
to sit in the rows of brake lights
stretching ahead like unmapped constellations.

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Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.

Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!

Kick It Out & Christmas Truce

Latest Comments

It captures the essence of non-league football, and the travel involved to and from matches.

“Gathering on a Thames island for a sing-song”: possibly Eel Pie Island back in the 60s or 70s, a local venue that I never went to, but watched recently on a documentary.

I’ll count myself as one of these few Met fans!

I played on saturdays (SAL), but pre or post our season, I’d be supporting the Blues / football.

Given my ‘manor’, I’d be at either:

Stamford Bridge, or

Brentford, or

Imber Court, or

the Beveree (for Hampton, as was – now Hampton and Richmond Borough).

Imber Court holds a lot of fond memories for our family – it’s where we went on a regular basis to let off steam. I could cycle there safely with pals any time I wanted.

I watched Wimbledon champions in their early days there (venue for Junior qualifiers);, watched Chelsea train there for one pre-season (and grabbed a left behind sweaty shirt! Still have it – and yes, washed!).

Dad wasn’t much of a fan generally, but he joined me as we watched his friends and colleagues play, so a bonding time for the both of us.

My sister had her wedding reception there, and we had my mother’s funeral reception there earlier this year.

So your poem brought back some very touching personal memories, I thank you profusely for that.